On Remembrance Sunday
“World Peace will come through the will of ordinary people like yourself.”
~ message from a Quaker poster promoting world peace
On Sunday I attended the National Alternative Remembrance Ceremony at Tavistock Square Gardens. The obvious question is, what makes it alternative? As Kate Smurthwaite summarised in her opening speech, it boils down to three things:
- To remember all the victims of war, on all sides, in all circumstances, in all occupations, however and whenever that has occurred
- To challenge militarism around the world
- To stand up for peace
Contrast this to the stated purpose of remembrance by the Royal British Legion:
"We unite across communities, cultures and faiths to remember the service and sacrifices of the Armed Forces community from the UK and the Commonwealth. We reflect on the contributions of those who serve today, and of veterans and their families. We also remember all those who have lost their lives while in service."1
I will leave it for another time to discuss what has drawn me towards this alternative form of remembrance, and why I am put off by the traditional forms of remembrance that dominate at this time of year. By considering the difference in those two stated aims of remembrance, you may be able to discern where I stand, and I will, of course, inevitably touch on some points relevant to that discussion in this post.
The ceremony lasted about forty-five minutes. There were three speeches followed by a two-minute silence and wreath laying at the Conscientious Objectors Memorial. I encourage you to watch the speeches on the Peace Pledge Union’s YouTube channel.
The Misattribution of Loss
After the ceremony I travelled to the St Pancras and Islington Cemetery in Finchley. Here buried are three distant relatives of mine. They all died on the same night, killed during the Blitz by a parachute bomb that exploded outside the block of tenement flats they lived in.
I came here earlier in the year to find their grave. Despite the fact I had the plot reference, it was a challenge that almost bested me. I’ve been grave finding on a few occasions, and each time I seem to be on the cusp of giving up when suddenly the grave presents itself to me. So too it was then.
The grave is tucked away off one of the roads, under a canopy of trees and buried in an ankle high bed of detritus. The headstone has a crack running from side to side near its base and it leans back at a precipitous angle - a firm nudge might knock it over. Moss and lichen obscures the inscription, which has anyway almost been worn away. I only identified it because a few of the letters that were discernible spelt out the forename of one of the dead. I was back to reconfirm my finding and to try to read the full inscription if I could. I was also there for the harder to quantify act of remembering the dead.
Before that, I stopped by the St Pancras Citizen Memorial that is attached to the cemetery. I haven’t found anything that details the history of this memorial - who built it, who funded it and so on - and there is nothing on or near the memorial that sheds light on this. It is clearly a civilian memorial though. It is marked as such on the cemetery map, and the inscription on the central obelisk reads:
"In Memory Of All The Citizens of St Pancras Who Died Through Enemy Action In The World War 1939-1945"
“All the citizens” is a bit vague, however, I think in this case it is taken to mean civilian dead, and further research confirms that the names of all those on the memorial were civilians. Some of those on this memorial died in the same bombing as my distant relatives, most, however, did not. 76 people are commemorated in total, representing only a fraction of the citizens of St Pancras who died through enemy action during the war.
At the foot of the obelisk a few wreaths were laid. I approached so that I may read the attached cards.
Reading the dedications, a clot of indignation congealed in me. There were two cards and they read:
"On behalf of Camden Council: Remembering all those who served their country"
"On behalf of Camden Council: in honour of all who served and sacrificed
Lest we forget"
Did the three babies on this memorial serve their country? Did the elderly women sacrifice themselves on the altar of patriotism? The men, well, perhaps they did serve in some capacity during their lives. Maybe the older men fought in the First World War, maybe some of them were now in the Home Guard, or serving as an air warden, or a firewatcher, or else active in other volunteer roles. Nevertheless, such roles do not constitute service as it is meant here, and at the time of their deaths they were, Lest We Forget, civilians.
This misattribution of loss frustrated me. I certainly do not believe that only the civilian dead matter and are worthy of remembrance. However, I am concerned that remembrance is overtly centred around military deaths at the expense of all other victims of war. When we fail to make the distinction between the circumstances that people died in, we obscure the nature of war from ourselves. The importance in remembering and centering civilian dead lies in redressing the unbalanced narrative we tell ourselves about war and its costs.
There is a very obvious connection between the strategic bombing that devastated the cities of Europe, London included, during the Second World War, and the systematic destruction of Gaza, or Syria, or Iraq (among others), and of the daily bombardments in Ukraine. Remembrance has to be rooted in the present, and by focusing on the service of British personnel we miss the global perspective on war and conflict. There were approximately 245,000 battle-related deaths in 2025, not including those killed indirectly by armed conflict.2
We should also consider that there is a cost to bear when defence budgets are increased by billions of pounds per year. Funding is diverted away from education, climate change, healthcare, international development and countless other services that provide security to people. This diversion of funds contributes to poverty and insecurity that in turn fuel further conflict. Those who suffer most as a result are invariably civilians. These are political choices with global consequences, and they are not scrutinised hard enough. When remembrance is framed as support for our armed forces, we must acknowledge that this is the cost.
Remembrance is so institutionalised that it seems it will never cease to exist. It is a defining pillar of the state. That the act of remembrance has become so ritualised is a testament to the failure of its message. We live in a society where remembrance is so reflexive that we seldom consider the why and the what of our actions. We seem to remember a mythical past better than we recognise the howling present.
I am reminded of the “intolerably nameless names” described by Siegfried Sassoon in his poem On Passing The New Menin Gate. He takes aim at state-sanctioned solemnity, the facade it creates in its language and ceremonies, how it ennobles unnecessary suffering, and how in its enormity and grandeur it seeks to silence the dead. We cannot allow the state to dictate the terms of remembrance when that state is responsible for the perpetuation of war.
So I don’t begrudge the wreathlayers. Their schedule is likely hectic, whisked between war memorials to lay wreaths while attending to regular day-to-day work in their communities. There is probably little time to think about each individual memorial, about the people whose names are etched into stone. It is, however, important that we each make that time to reflect upon the victims of war, on all sides, in all circumstances, in all occupations, however and whenever that has occurred.
The Bombing of Pancras Square
Rose Field lived at 14 Pancras Square. Her daughter Winifred Chappell, or Winnie, and her husband Frederick lived at number 53. Rose was a mother of three and grandmother to at least three children. Winnie was born at Pancras Square, and with Frederick she had one child who was probably evacuated to live with Winnie's sister in Kent at the onset of war. Frederick was a glassblower. I can tell you little more about them other than the circumstances of their death.
At about 3:15am on Thursday, 17th April 1941, a parachute bomb drifted towards the flats of Pancras Square. It exploded in the courtyard. Over 70 people died. Some probably died instantly. Others may have survived the initial blast and died of secondary causes - collapsing rubble, fire, smoke inhalation. A photo of the aftermath shows the gutted building: crumbling brick, splintered wood, doorways to nowhere. Only exposed wallpaper hints at the domestic lives of those who once lived, otherwise all visible that remained was ruin.
The oldest victim was 79 years old, the youngest, only a few months. Most of the dead were buried in what is now the St Pancras and Islington Cemetery.
I walked away from the citizen memorial nursing my incredulity but it didn’t take long for it to dissipate. By the time a mourner shouted at me whether I had a lighter (no, I did not), I was already thinking about what was to be my small act of remembrance.
I reached the grave to find it much as I left it a few months ago. Crouching in front of the headstone, I began to remove the stubborn moss clinging to the surface and brushed away the dirt deposited beneath. After a few minutes, I stepped back and squinted. A letter here or there stood out from the mottled grey surface, a couple of C’s, some D’s, an O, and was that a V? Using these as reference, I traced my fingers over the stone, feeling for any grooves that could not be seen by eye. I repeated this process of removing moss and dirt, squinting and feeling the stone until I had discerned all I could.
In Loving Memory Of
Our Dear Mother Rose Field
Aged 64 Years
Also Winifred Chappell Daughter of Above
Aged 30 Years
And of Frederick Chappell Husband of Above
Aged 31 Years
Stepping back, I took a couple of photos so I could superimpose the words on top later, and then I left, not knowing when I might return again.